The Shades of Tsahara
by Lennie2
Summary: The fifth Doctor, Adric, Nyssa and Tegan land on Tsahara to admire the beautiful crystal trees that bloom on the desert world. Things are never that simple though, now are they?
1. Chapter 1

THE SHADES OF TSAHARA

THE SHADES OF TSAHARA

CHAPTER ONE

Author: Elanor

Beta: Patrice

Feedback - yes please. I'm begging!

Author's note: Thanks to both Patrice and Aingeal for their encouragement and assistance!

Disclaimer: Doctor Who, the TARDIS and lots of other things are copyright of the BBC. I make no profit from this story.

The desert stretched in unbroken monotony for miles in the early dawn light but here, incongruously, bloomed crystal. They grew out of the sand, each coral-like formation composed of a single stem which split into hundreds of delicate branches of perfect symmetry. Their many facets caught the rays of the sun, shimmering rose and crimson and violet.

"They're called crystal trees," the Doctor murmured in a hushed voice.

"They look almost alive," Nyssa said. "Are they?"

"No-one seems to know." He smiled gently as he looked round at the oddly peaceful forest. "I'm rather glad actually – the universe should hold some mystery that science cannot explain."

"They're beautiful," Adric whispered. He reached out to touch the nearest but pulled back a second later, casting a guilty look at the Doctor. A few weeks ago the Doctor had reprimanded him (at some length) for meddling with the TSS on Deva Loka. Adric had been deeply hurt by his friend's accusatory words and wanted to prove that he had learned his lesson. "May I touch them?"

The Doctor winked at him. "Go ahead. Amazing, aren't they?"

The four roamed through the forest for some minutes, staring deep into the crystals' hearts. When Tegan flicked a branch, the whole tree resonated almost like discordant singing.

The Doctor, however, was frowning slightly. "There's something not right here," he muttered vaguely.

Tegan groaned, mumbling an "I knew it was too good to be true," under her breath. She mopped at her forehead with one of Nyssa's hankies; considering how early it was, it was getting hot very quickly. Just in the last half hour, the temperature had rocketed.

"Nyssa, Adric, what do you think? Look at the lay-out of the forest, the structure," the Doctor said like a professor addressing his star pupils who were missing the patently obvious.

"What about it?" Nyssa asked but Adric had worked it out.

"The forest is too regimented. Too symmetrical."

"Exactly!"

"But crystals form symmetrically," Nyssa objected.

"Do they?" the Doctor said eagerly. He indicated the whole forest with a sweep of his hand, warming to his subject. "Every tree is identical to its neighbour; no aberrations, no individualism."

Tegan sighed, bored with the science stuff. "I thought you said you'd been here before. Did the forest look like this then?"

He frowned, searching his memory. "I came with Jamie and Victoria. I'm sure it wasn't -" His words were cut off as an ear piercing shriek set the trees vibrating. This was followed by an explosion at the Doctor's feet. Adric pulled Tegan to safety as a second bolt hit the ground where she had been standing.

"Don't move!" came a cold voice and they looked up to see a row of armed men lined along the sand dune. Just behind them was a lumbering tractor-like vehicle. As the companions put up their hands, the leader and five of the men, dressed in purple billowy trousers and tunics, slid down the dune, their weapons at the ready. The rest, the Doctor noted automatically despite the jeopardy, remained in a defensive circle round the tractor, paying just as much attention to the surrounding desert as to their captives.

"Good morning. I'm the Doctor!" the Time Lord began, switching on his most disarming smile. It was at times like this that he wished he still carried jelly babies – nothing like a jelly baby to diffuse tension.

The leader looked him up and down with the expression of one who had stepped in something unpleasant. "Stealing crystals is a capital offence."

"Capital 'S,' I assume," the Doctor blustered, nervously twisting his hat in his hand. "I can assure you we were not stealing. Admiring."

"Oh really? We've just come from Farm C and I suppose that large blue box we passed is not a packing crate?"

"It most certainly is not," Nyssa said firmly in the interest of accuracy.

One of the men, his gaze wandering to the expanse of desert, sighed half impatiently, half nervously. "Jakeson, can we get on with this? The Shades could come at any second."

The leader waved a placating hand. "Don't sweat, Malc, this won't take long."

"Look," Tegan said, trying for a reasonable tone and failing mightily, "we're foreigners here. We've never visited your planet before, how were we supposed to know we were trespassing? You can't shoot us for transgressing a law we don't even know about!"

The leader completely ignored her and nodded to his cohorts who roughly shoved them against the dune, away from the forest. "Got any last requests?"

"That you spare us?" the Doctor suggested hopefully.

Jakeson grinned, showing uneven yellow teeth. He assumed a grave expression and began to speak in a mock-formal tone: "I, Jakeson, find the accused guilty of trespassing on restricted ground, stealing crystal, resisting arrest and wearing very unfashionable clothes. I hereby sentence the accused to having their brains blown out."

He squeezed the trigger of his gun and it emitted the high-pitched whine they had heard earlier as it charged to full power. The Doctor tried to shield his companions even as he continued to volubly object. Adric's method was more direct: he bull-dozed into the two guards in front of him, sending them flying. He wasn't quick enough, however, for their leader who fired his laser at him, point-blank. Adric collapsed immediately.

Nyssa gasped in fright. "Is he dead?"

The Doctor's face paled; he tried to go to his fallen friend but was prevented. "I don't know. The gun wasn't on full charge so there's a chance."

Jakeson levelled his gun again but a cry from one of the men by the vehicle gave him pause. He turned. "I'm rather busy."

"It's Quill on the radio."

He swore floridly. "Tell him to send me an inter-departmental e-memo."

"He says you are not to kill the foreigners," continued the tractor guard, "but are to bring them to the colony for sentencing."

"I caught 'em, I get to shoot 'em and claim the reward."

"He's very insistent," the guard said. Jakeson made a rude gesture and invited the absent Quill to attempt something biologically impossible. The guard continued: "He says if you don't do as you have been ordered, he'll revoke your crystal license."

Jakeson finally admitted defeat, albeit with ill grace. "Just great! Okay, people, let's load them in the tractor before the sun climbs any higher. Do you want me to draw you pictures? Someone carry the stiff. Let's move it – we don't want to keep the Tetrarch waiting, now do we?!"

With no ceremony they had been chivvied up the dune towards the waiting tractor. The Doctor noted that the vehicle had the caterpillar treads of a tank and was pitted and old. He could understand the treads - they would navigate the shifting sand much more efficiently than wheels - but wondered why the vehicle was so heavily armoured. He had no more time to cogitate because he was grabbed roughly and shoved into the rear with his friends amongst empty packing crates, ropes, the spare tyre and a few other odds and ends. One of the men sat on the other side of the grille, ostensibly watching them but he spent most of the time staring out of his window, nervously fingering his weapon.

The Doctor wasted no time in checking Adric. The younger man had not regained consciousness but his vital signs were strong. He rolled him over into the recovery position, patting his shoulder absently. "He'll be fine."

Now that she knew Adric was out of danger, Tegan turned to their present predicament. "Shouldn't we try to escape?" She inconspicuously indicated a few likely tools that could be used as weapons.

Nyssa shook her russet curls. "Escape where? At our present speed we must be five miles from the TARDIS with no means of navigation. It would be very dangerous."

"The alternative, if you recall, is being barbecued. I'd rather take my chances in the desert."

The Doctor appeared unfazed by the seriousness of their situation and had manoeuvred in the cramped space to squint through the grille at the bank of high tech consoles he could see ranged along the wall in the main compartment. He shone his torch, trying to see the read-outs in the poor light until the nervous guard tore his eyes away from the desert and shook the grille in warning. The Doctor waved cheerily to him, deliberately misunderstanding the gesture. "Interesting," he muttered. "Very advanced technology. I am definitely looking forward to meeting this Tetrarch chap."

"I'm not," Tegan muttered.

Adric gave a groan and began to stir, rolling onto his back. Tegan crouched next to him, offering a bottle of water. Adric smiled up at her and Nyssa with relief. "You're safe," he murmured.

"Thanks to you," Nyssa beamed and squeezed his hand. The Doctor, however, did not share her gratitude: he was glaring at Adric, his usually gentle eyes sparking with anger.

"What exactly did you think you were playing at, you young idiot?"

"I was trying to escape!"

"You seem to have an unerring talent for choosing the most foolish method imaginable – first the TSS, now charging two heavily armed men. Have you any idea how dangerous that was? You could have been killed."

Adric stared at him. "They were going to kill us anyway – "

"That's not a good enough excuse, Adric!"

Adric flinched, confused and hurt by his friend's reaction. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. Avoiding the Doctor's gaze, he pulled himself into a sitting position and perched on a crate, wincing as nearly every muscle in his body – including some he didn't know he had – protested. He flexed his leg until the tingle, half way between pins and needles and cramp, began to ease.

"That, my boy, is what comes of trying to rush a high energy weapon," the Doctor lectured. He prodded the Alzarian until Adric met his gaze; he smiled with affectionate exasperation and the boy returned the smile, beginning to relax. The Doctor massaged Adric's tense shoulder muscles as he addressed their nervous guard, "Tell me," he said, "how far is the colony?"

"It's 25 miles from Farm B where we caught you."

"Ah," the Doctor said, then frowned. "Farm B? You mean the forest is cultivated?" Although the details of his last visit were sketchy – it had been a few centuries after all – he was fairly sure the trees he had seen then were wild. The crystal trees were beautiful, a miracle of evolution; the notion that they had been plucked from their natural habitat to be cultivated was abhorrent to him. It did, however, explain why the trees all looked so uniform and symmetrical.

The guard cast another furtive glance out of his window and flicked his fingers in some sort of ritual gesture. "Of course. Why else would the Administration of Homeworld set up a colony on a desert world?"

"Homeworld?" Nyssa asked.

"Earth," the Doctor supplied absently. "In her Colonial Empire days she set up colonies all over this sector." He turned back to their informant. "Tell me more about these crystals."

"The harvested crystals have many applications: anti-matter drive systems, mining; but I suppose the main application is as an energy source. Our whole economy is based on them."

Tegan, uninterested in the economics lecture, had used a rag to scrub a clean spot in the filthy dirty rear window. "Doctor, look!"

"That is amazing!" the now recovered Adric said as he and Nyssa clustered close. The tractor was trundling along a large dune and the huge colony of Tsahara could be seen below. It was as large and complex as a small city. Most of the houses seemed to be constructed of rough white stone; they were low and squat with flat roofs. At the colony's centre they could see a large landscaped garden and an imposing building that was immediately recognisable as a temple. Constructed of austere white marble and something that looked like frosted glass, it had five tiers like a wedding cake. Its impressive spire rose in a delicate spiral and was topped by azure crystal. The temple easily dwarfed every other structure in the colony.

But that was not what fascinated the companions. Hovering over the entire colony was a shimmering haze, like a rainbow force field. It bathed the buildings in an ever-changing, iridescent light.

"What is it?" Tegan asked.

"Amazing," the Doctor exulted, "the engineering skill, the talent! Breath-taking!"

"Yes," Tegan said patiently, "but what is it?"

"An atmosphere Shield of some kind," Nyssa replied.

"Exactly," the Doctor enthused. "I've seen them used on some of the agricultural planets on the Outer Rim to ensure controlled growing conditions. Think of it as a giant greenhouse, Tegan, ensuring steady temperatures but also filtering out harmful atmospheric conditions." He tapped his rolled hat against his chin thoughtfully. "I have to admit I have never seen one quite as large or complex as this."

They were all suddenly thrown forward as the tractor ground to an abrupt halt.

"I'd say we have arrived," the Doctor proclaimed with gusto.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

The Administration Building to which the four companions were escorted was immense. It faced the garden with the temple directly opposite, almost as if in defiance of the spiritual heart of the community. It was constructed out of the same marble as the church too, inside and out. Fan-tailed fish could be glimpsed swimming in a maze of tiny rills that ran through the white flagged courtyard. The rills ran into a circular pool with a frosted glass fountain.

Their escort paused in the porch and scrupulously wiped his feet three times on the door mat. He then dipped his fingers into a small font-like structure set into the porch's wall and sprinkled water over his hands. With a sweep of his hands he indicated the companions should follow suit: Nyssa and the Doctor acquiesced gravely, Tegan and Adric much more awkwardly. They were then shown into a large hall which was just as ostentatious as the outside. A line of stained glass windows ran along the walls high above, casting rainbow light on the imposing, rather pretentious piece of crystal sculptor that took up nearly all the space. After a rather long wait, they were finally shown into an office where, behind a large, suspiciously tidy desk, made incongruously out of thick glass, sat the Tetrarch. He wore the same baggy trousers as the crystal harvesters who had brought them but his shirt was pale grey with heavy embroidery on it. A small skull cap, also of grey, sat on top of his head.

He continued to write in a book when his visitors were ushered in, but if his tactics were supposed to unsettle them, he had not counted on the Doctor who blithely carried on a conversation with his companions. With a curt nod the Tetrarch finally dismissed his secretary and had the four approach.

"I am Quill, Tetrarch of Tsahara," he proclaimed in a rather dry and dusty voice.

"How do you do? Nice place you have here." The Doctor introduced himself and his companions. "It's very good of you to see us at such short notice," he continued with the gentlest hint of irony. "I am sure you must be very busy. Filing and tidying your desk and such."

"You are here to plead for your lives," Quill stated coldly. "I have read your statements. You maintain you are ... tourists who were not aware that you had trespassed."

"As I explained to Jakeson – wonderful chap, very keen – we had no idea we were breaking any laws." He smiled disarmingly and, as if unaware of their sticky position, ambled over to the large window through which they could see the garden. He pointed to the Shield whose diffusing light shimmered over the austere white of the temple. "Very impressive, by the way. I've seen quite a number of atmosphere shields in my time but none that even come close to this. The Shield's computer system must be impressive to constantly adjust its output to the required frequency." He turned to Adric. "At least a five-based algorithm system, wouldn't you say?"

"At least," Adric said knowingly. "The calculations to decode that amount of data would be enormous."

The Tetrarch had glared at the Doctor's obvious diversionary tactics at first but now his expression became calculating. "You are familiar with atmosphere shields?"

"Dabbled here and there," the Doctor said with a modest shrug. He suddenly speared the Tetrarch with his keen gaze, all trace of flippancy gone in an instant. "Enough to know that there is a serious malfunction in your alignment phasing. I could have a look at it for you – if I wasn't about to be brutally murdered on some jumped-up charge."

The Tetrarch raised an eyebrow and fussily straightened his book with the very corner of his desk. "Are you trying to blackmail me, Doctor?"

The Doctor looked aghast. "Such an ugly word, Tetrarch. I merely point out to you that I can't re-phase the Shield if my head is separated from my shoulders."

Quill studied the Doctor thoughtfully, drumming his long fingers on the desk. Eventually he gave a dusty smile and rose to his feet. "It's been a pleasure to do business with you, Doctor. One of the engineers will escort you to the transmitter array tomorrow. In the meantime, I will ensure quarters are arranged for you and," he added with a pointed look at the rather wilted celery on the Doctor's lapel, "suitable attire."

"Thank you."

"I hope you will enjoy our hospitality. We get few visitors but I trust you will find us welcoming. Indeed, you have arrived at an opportune moment. Today is the Celebration."

"Celebration?"

"It is a traditional holy day for our Sect where we pray for a bountiful harvest and a peaceful year." He sounded like he was repeating the phrase parrot-fashion.

The Doctor raised an inquisitive eyebrow and looked about to ask further questions; Quill, however, had depressed a buzzer on his desk and his secretary was entering. "Conduct our Honoured Guests to suitable accommodation. See that they are given every consideration." He picked up his book and waved an almost regal hand in dismissal. Taking the hint, the four companions departed.

"Colourful, isn't it?" Tegan said. She was looking round the interior of the guest house that had been put at their disposal. It had a garden (with a fountain – what was it about fountains on this planet? Tegan thought) that looked out onto the desert, and a flat roof like most of the other houses. The floors were flagged with white stone and the walls were whitewashed but everything else was a riot of colour from the gaudy tapestries to the large rugs lying across the floor. Instead of chairs, there were piles of multi-coloured cushions of every shape and dimension, including sausage shaped ones set out as back supports against the low table. Apart from the colour, the other defining characteristic was glass. Frosted glass screens neatly divided the house into rooms and the doors slid across. Tables, shelves, even cupboards were made out of glass of varying thickness and transparency.

"I imagine it is a reaction against their rather bleak surroundings," Nyssa said, as usual taking Tegan's observation seriously. "I rather like it."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," Tegan said a little testily, touching the tender skin of the back of her neck where she had caught the sun.

"Oh, it's a clock!" Adric noted, examining an intricate crystal structure. Water flowed through the device, making a set of little wheels spin. He looked round the room. "There's an awful lot of crystal and glass."

"Sand," Tegan said, still a little tetchy. "You make glass from sand – it's not like they are going to run out of the base component."

"Hadn't thought of that."

The Doctor was peering through his glasses at the font in the porch, a smaller, less ornate version of the one in the Tetrarch's building. "Religious lot, aren't they?"

"What did the Tetrarch call it - the Sect? Gives me the goosebumps," Tegan said. "What's the significance of all those hand gestures?"

"Protection from evil?" Adric suggested.

"Apparently," the Doctor replied, "although it rather begs the question what kind of evil."

Nyssa dribbled her fingers in the font. "And the water symbolises life, Doctor?"

"Yes. The desert represents death – hence the ritual wiping of the feet to remove all traces of sand. I have to admit I have never seen such rituals in this context before." He paused thoughtfully then his expression cleared and, with the enthusiasm of a small child, he added: "Fascinating, isn't it?"

"Riveting," said Adric, reaching for the clothes the Tsaharans had put out for them. "I'm going to change. We've only get an hour before this Celebration thing."

"Good, get you out of those pyjamas you insist on wearing," Tegan said, her tone half way between bantering and serious.

Adric paused at the sliding screen door. "It happens to be the uniform of an Elite. At least it's practical and shows my intellect, trolley dolly."

He slid the door closed quickly before Tegan could get in the last word. He stared in the mirror, feeling uncomfortable in his costume for the first time. He sighed. He had never felt relaxed about his body shape, he was too short and chubby, but now even his clothes were the object of ridicule. He unlaced the tunic and was just about to take it off when the Doctor came in. "Ever heard of knocking," Adric mumbled under his breath and pretended to fiddle with the Tsaharan clothes. "They don't have beds," he said louder when the Doctor just stood there.

"Cushions - ah well, I imagine we will cope. Here." He held out a small tube of something. "Sun cream. You've caught the sun, all of you."

"Thanks." Adric dropped it on top of the clothes and waited for the Doctor to leave. Naturally, he did no such thing – this was the Doctor after all, who delighted in doing the unexpected. Annoyed and a little intimidated, Adric glanced in the mirror to see that the Doctor was peeling off his own shirt. He tore his eyes away at once, his cheeks flaming. Gathering up his own costume he made for the en-suite bathroom, muttering an excuse. He held up the clothes for inspection. First a pair of the light, rather baggy cotton trousers that appeared to be the height of Tsaharan fashion. They were in a light blue and fastened disconcertingly with a drawstring, rather like tracksuit bottoms. The tunic came to mid-thigh and was in a darker blue shot through with silver. Elaborate embroidery was worked into the front and into the flowing sleeves. Adric stared at himself in the mirror – he hardly recognised himself. Curiously exposed in the strange attire, he gave serious consideration to changing back into his own clothes but decided he couldn't face Tegan's jibes if he did so. Sighing, he picked up the sash-thing that gave form to the loose clothing and went out into the bedroom. The Doctor, whose costume was a different shade of blue, was staring out of the large window but he turned at the door sliding and smiled.

"Very nice, Adric." He saw Adric's look of very obvious cynicism and came over. "What's wrong?"

The Doctor, Adric thought, looked even younger dressed in this unfamiliar attire and he had only just got used to the fawn cricketing outfit. He remembered tracking his newly-regenerated friend down the long, never ending corridors of the TARDIS, finally finding him unravelling the burgundy scarf that seemed to be such a part of the old Doctor. He remembered how much it had hurt seeing it being destroyed, like it was a visual reminder, or reprimand, that the old Doctor was gone forever. Later, after Castrovalva, Adric had taken the woolly remnants back to his own room. He came back to the present, staring at a stranger. He summoned up a smile, the past still dancing in his eyes. "Nothing, Doctor."

The Doctor searched his gaze and Adric closed his hands into fists in the full sleeves and tried not to flinch. "Alright. Here, that sash goes like this." The Doctor tugged the sash out of his grip, bodily turned Adric round and tied it round his waist. His hands were deft, objective, but Adric was still not used to touch. It occurred to him that, discounting the earlier massage, this was probably the most intimate this Doctor had ever been with him. The old Doctor – the dead Doctor, he told himself – had been relaxed and easy, often wrapping a companionable arm round Adric or even giving him a hug. This Doctor was remote, detached, the nearest to physical demonstration being the odd often awkward pat to the shoulder. It was as if he wanted to put up a barrier and Adric certainly didn't know how to get through that barrier – all he knew was that he missed the hugs.

"Thanks," he said and took a step back.

The colony, they discovered when they sallied forth to attend the Celebration, was in festive mood: ribbons wound round trees, large tapestries hung from nearly every window and streamers and buntings were strewn above the streets. Over their habitual two-tone attire, the townspeople wore stripy garish waistcoats and wrapped three or four silk sashes round their waists. After wandering through the chaotic bazaar, examining the ornate, blown glassware, the companions followed the crowds to the temple gardens where the Celebration was to begin. Slatted chairs had been set out in neat rows on the grass, facing the raised platform that had been erected in front of the temple.

"It's like a May Day festival," Tegan said, recalling the festivities she had enjoyed with her grandfather in the sleepy English village where he lived. "There were always processions and Maypole dancing."

"What's Maypole dancing?" Adric asked.

"Well, there's a large upright pole with hundreds of coloured strips attached to the top. The dancers each take a strip and weave in and out of each other as they dance round the pole."

"It's a pagan fertility rite which the Catholic Church adopted," the Doctor explained in the interests of historical accuracy.

"Oh," said Adric, deciding to let the matter delicately drop.

Wanting to re-capture some of the magic of those long-gone days, Tegan watched the festivities carefully. People smiled and laughed; impromptu dances and songs broke out and yet she couldn't help feeling that the laughs were occasionally forced, the smiles diffident or wary.

A sonorous gong was followed by the emergence of a procession of white robed priests from the temple. They processed round the gardens, intoning deeply, their faces covered by their cowl-like hoods. They mounted the dais and the crowd waited expectantly, all movement and conversation halted.

The deep chanting ceased at some secret signal; there was a puff of smoke and Lorac, High Priest of Tsahara, materialised at the front of the dais. The cynical smile died on the Doctor's lips when he saw the gloating expression on the man's face and the crowd's reaction: people bowed low and flicked their fingers in the ritual gesture of veneration, their expressions reflecting fanatical devotion but also something much more sinister - fear.

"I don't like this," Tegan hissed.

"Believers and Honoured Guests," Lorac began, his eyes honing in on the four companions, "today is a special day for Tsahara. Today, the blessed Day of Celebration, we ensure our colony's survival and prosperity for the coming year. We pray for lucrative harvests from the Farms and protection from the desert's evil. It is not an easy price we must pay – but it is a necessary one." Here he paused dramatically, milking his followers' unease and uncertainty for all it was worth. "You, my Believers, know the terrible consequences if we turn from our obligations – murder, rape and desolation!"

A woman a few rows in front of them leapt to her feet, her expression one of extreme fear. "Save us, High Priest! Save us from the Shades!" She fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Lorac smiled, sweeping his hands over his gathered subjects. "Be tranquil, my children," he said, his voice dropping to a reassuring croon, "I will lead you to safety." He seated himself on the bejewelled throne in the centre of the dais and said, "Let the sacrifices be worthy! Proceed!"

"Sacrifices?" Adric asked, his face pale despite the suffocating heat.

The Doctor shrugged. "This is a religion based on fear and humiliation and power. Religious fanaticism at its worst." He gave Tegan a significant glance. "Compare the 17th century witch-hunts or the hysteria caused by the death of Princess Diana."

"Princess Diana? She's not dead – "

The Doctor's attention was fixed on the High Priest. "Mmm? Oh, so sorry, that's in your future. My point is – "

"Please, my Friend," the man in the next chair to Adric's suddenly hissed, "do not speak so loudly."

"We did not mean to offend you," Nyssa said.

The man winced and lowered his voice even further. "The truth does not offend me but the High Priest has spies everywhere and it is not wise to speak out against him." They could see the man's Adam's apple working in his throat as he struggled with his fear. "Come to my café after the Celebration and I will tell you what I know." So saying he pressed a business card into Adric's hand and turned back to the proceedings. Exchanging glances the four followed his example.

While they had been talking, another procession had formed and was wending its way down the centre aisle towards the dais. At its head strode Quill, the colony's secular leader, looking drab and powerless in his grey attire next to the resplendent, gleaming figure of Lorac. The Tetrarch's low bow as he placed his offering was returned with a mere nod from Lorac and Adric saw the grim line of his mouth as he returned to his seat: the Tetrarch was not amused. The townspeople, some trembling visibly, followed suit, each bringing their offering according to their profession – those in green presented great mounds of the freshest, lushest fruits and vegetables, while those in purple brought elaborate crystal carvings. In addition to their goods, each person also gave Lorac a purse of gold which one of the priests took. Most of the sacrifices were accepted with a condescending nod of the head but occasionally, after inspecting the goods from down his long hooked nose, Lorac would bark in indignation and sweep them from the table. The last group, dressed in blood red, brought forward wicker cages of hens and doves and lastly, a snow white goat.

The Doctor's expression hardened. "I think I've seen enough of Tsahara's quaint customs. Come along." The High Priest, however, had risen to his feet, his arms extended; the Doctor seemed to struggle with himself, debating whether to leave so openly or wait – discretion won and he sank back down. Poles were slotted into the underside of the table and, with Lorac walking a few steps in front, the table was carried off the dais and processed though the gardens.

Without uttering a word, or so it seemed, the throng of people formed an orderly line behind and followed it out. His earlier indecision over, the Doctor strode purposefully to the head of the queue, his companions scrambling to keep up – the Time Lord's expression brooked no argument.

At the end of the garden stood a pair of ornamental gates; these were swung open admitting the procession to a short stretch of hard-baked earth at the very edge of the colony. Ahead, through the sparkling light of the Shield, lay the relentless expanse of the desert. The people ranged themselves along the boundary, the atmosphere now one of palpable fear, while Lorac and his priests stepped out into the desert. Just a short distance away, a matter of fifty paces, stood another dais in front of which the laden table was set down. Lorac bowed three times and, raising his arms in supplication, said in a sonorous voice: "Shades of the desert, hear me, Lorac, the chosen High Priest of Tsahara."

"He really loves the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?" Tegan muttered to Adric but the boy's attention was fixed not on her or Lorac but the shifting sand of the far desert. He jumped in sudden alarm, his whole body stiffening.

"What was that?"

"What?" Tegan asked, "I don't hear anything."

"Voices."

Lorac was continuing: "Accept our sacrifices and find them worthy. Accept them as a token of our respect and deliver us unto a bountiful harvest and peaceful year!" He took up a wavy-bladed knife and stood over the goat which had been spread out on the platform's altar. It bleated miserably, trying to kick its tied legs.

"This promises to be unpleasant," the Doctor intoned.

Nyssa's gentle eyes held honest bewilderment. "What is he going to do?"

Tegan had worked it out. "Do something! You can't let the poor creature die because of some religious hokum! Doctor!"

The Time Lord grabbed her to him, whispering softly but urgently into her ear. "And have us all killed? These people are not rational." He squeezed her arm almost painfully until she nodded her head in submission. "There's nothing we can do."

Lorac held the knife above his head, its crystal blade glinting in the sun, then plunged it down. Nyssa whirled away into Tegan's arms and the air hostess hid her own face against the younger woman's shoulder. As for Adric, although he was sickened, he found that he was compelled to watch the goat jerk and bleat as its heart was torn from its body.

Lorac held the dripping, still-beating organ aloft and purred: "The Shades are appeased."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

The crowd, heaving a collective sigh of relief it seemed to Tegan, slunk away, the earlier signs of merrymaking replaced by uneasiness and a sort of whipped-dog mentality: people were unsettled by their participation in the afternoon's activity but felt backed into a corner. Only a few hardy souls sought the colony's cafes and bars. The companions' instincts were to slope off with the rest, for the rite they had witnessed had left them with a nasty taste in their mouths, but the Doctor, with a focus that they had not glimpsed for months, insisted they visit the café which their mysterious friend owned.

"If our friendly despotic priest is as paranoid and power hungry as you think, couldn't all this be a trap?" Tegan asked. "I mean couldn't this guy be one of his spies?"

"Possibly, possibly," the Doctor muttered in that annoying way that meant he wasn't listening.

"So glad you're taking my objection seriously," Tegan mumbled.

"Actually I could do with a drink," Nyssa said. She was visibly wilting in the harsh environment; even with the Shield, the ambient temperature was much hotter than it ever got on Traken. They selected a canopied table in the garden close to the fountain which occasionally bathed them in a light mist and had the added advantage of covering their voices. Beyond the manicured box hedge and the shimmering haze of the Shield stretched the desert. Adric shaded his eyes and gazed out at it, both fascinated and repelled by its vastness and air of mystery.

"It's so beautiful," he murmured almost to himself.

"It's scorching hot, empty and monotonous," Tegan replied. She was fanning herself with her ice cream menu – the café specialised in exotic ice cream creations - and was in no mood to appreciate natural diversity when she could be back in the house enjoying a cooling shower.

Adric ignored her. Despite the Shield he could smell the baked earth aroma and hear the chirrup of the desert sparrow. He watched a sidewinder snake slither down the gentle undulation of a nearby dune, its body leaving indentations in the surface which seconds later were silently filled. Then he shivered as he remembered the voices he had heard.

"Perhaps we could go for a walk out there later," the Doctor said with the same enthusiasm for the desert as he gave to every new experience.

"Isn't that rather dangerous?" Nyssa asked. Her curls stuck damply to her forehead.

"Only for an hour or so," he reassured her with a cheery smile and then as if noticing her condition for the first time, frowned. "You look flushed," he said to her, half in reprimand, half in concern, placing a cool hand on her forehead. "Drink lots of fluids; I don't want you getting heat stroke."

"I don't intend to."

The café owner, now divested of his extra sashes and waistcoat, came over and for the benefit of any observers gave the colony's ritual gesture of welcome which the four solemnly returned. "Welcome Honoured Guests," he boomed, his notepad poised. "I am Maxwell. How may I serve you?"

The Doctor gave their order with a beaming smile, adding an invitation for the owner to join them if he wasn't too busy; he wasn't.

"Tell me about this Sect," the Doctor said when Maxwell had taken his seat and they had spent a few minutes noisily singing the colony's praises and eating their ice creams, "Has it been established long?"

Maxwell stirred his fruit crush meditatively. "The colony was founded 50 years ago but it was nothing more than a tiny outpost – a stop-over for the freighters to re-fuel. Then the colonists found the crystals and began to harvest them. Everything changed." He stared out at the desert just as Adric had. "Time was the colony lived in harmony with the desert – time was, not so long ago."

"What happened?" Nyssa asked.

His eyes sparked with sudden fire. "Lorac came, that's what happened. Dug up an old myth about desert Shades and set himself up as High Priest."

"Interesting religion, this Sect of yours," the Doctor said, ignoring Maxwell's truculent, 'not mine, Friend Doctor.' "Rather reminiscent of a shaman cult where the shaman is worshipped and venerated for his mystical powers and ability to appease the gods – in this case, these Shades. Please do continue, Maxwell."

"Lorac rules this place with an iron fist. Even the Tetrarch bows to his will. He's nothing but his puppet."

"Yes, we noticed. Lorac feeds off the people's paranoia and fear," expanded Nyssa. "There was a similar cult of superstition on Traken in the last years of the Keeper's rule - it bordered on religious mania. They took a silly myth and twisted it."

"Mistfall wasn't a myth," Adric stated firmly, "as Varsh discovered. Doctor?"

"What? Oh, Marshmen, definitely," the Doctor muttered vaguely and unhelpfully, obviously deep in thought.

Tegan paused a moment. "Look," she said a trifle awkwardly, "I know the Marshmen were true, Adric, but that doesn't mean every myth is. If it were, there'd be vampires – "

"There are. The Great Vampire escaped into E-space," Adric said.

She hung onto her patience somehow. "Bad example. Dragons then or unicorns or the Holy Grail. This is just a case of religious hysteria, plain and simple."

Maxwell nodded in agreement. "My friends, Lorac has got to be stopped. There have been … rumours, you know – disappearances, mysterious deaths. Strange night time rituals at the temple. People even say it is not just goats - "

The Doctor's gaze sharpened as Maxwell stopped abruptly and looked off towards the entrance to the café where a white robed figure could be seen. The café owner stood suddenly and said in a loud voice: "Enjoy your stay in my humble café, Honoured Guests." He wriggled his fingers in the ritual blessing and bolted like a rabbit down a hole.

The Doctor stared after him, the man's earlier words triggering a nasty thought. "I wonder? No, surely not …"

"Surely not, what? Honestly, Doc, you drive me mad sometimes."

"Mmm? It just occurred to me…" He trailed off and offered an apologetic smile. "Nothing, Tegan, I'm becoming paranoid in my old age."

Later that day, the four opted for a quiet evening in after the heat and stress of the day. The Doctor was playing a complicated Tsaharan game similar to backgammon with Tegan while Nyssa was trying her hand at weaving one of the elaborate tapestries; they had been outside on the patio but had withdrawn inside for Nyssa's sake. Adric had remained outside, prowling the small garden restlessly and eventually slipping off his sandals to bathe his hot feet in the pond, enjoying the cool splash of the fountain. One of the colonies many peacocks was pecking at the grain they had put out for it. Tegan's voice floated out to him: "Adric, if you're staying out there, you need some sun cream on." It was past seven and yet it was nearly as hot as it had been at midday.

"I'll be in in a few minutes!" he called back, paddling his feet in the water. Something off to his left just caught his gaze and he looked up, shading his eyes with his hand as he scanned the desert out beyond the garden. There on the horizon was a very small shape. He watched it as it grew bigger and bigger until he could identify it: a man running – or rather staggering – towards the colony. He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, a strange empathy drawing him to the man's plight. He could now see him clearly: his skin was burnt and blistered and he was stumbling and falling, his chest heaving. But it was his features that struck him – they were the features of a mad man, driven beyond endurance. Stirred to compassion and not even thinking to call for help, Adric began to sprint towards the obviously dying man.

It was mildly uncomfortable away from the palm tree's shade but once he passed beyond the filtering Shield the full desert heat struck him like a physical barrier. Ignoring the discomfort, he crested the first dune, his feet slipping and scrabbling in the giving sand. He saw a flash of white like swirling robes to his right but dismissed it, his attention fixed solely on the man. He was close now, so close that Adric could see the veins in his neck and forehead; could hear him too for he was babbling.

He reached out his arms – and froze.

Before his very eyes the man stiffened, his face setting into an expression of utter agony then he fell to his knees, his back arcing. The air seemed to fizz and throb and there was a high pitched pulsing in Adric's ears like a thousand banshees wailing. The man gave a sawing scream and before Adric's helpless gaze he was torn apart by some incredible, invisible force. His skin was peeled away layer by agonising layer then his arms were rent from his body, blood and gore spattering Adric's tunic and face.

It took a long time for him to die.

The eerie non-human wailing reached a climax as the man at last collapsed in a torn and bloody heap. Adric could only stand there, unable to wrench his eyes away, on some terrible level forced to watch the obscene spectacle. He felt the air dance and pulsate around his own helpless body and in that horrific moment he knew he was going to die. He could not move; he knew quite clearly that he was going to die and yet he couldn't move so much as an inch. He whimpered, praying to whatever was listening that it would be quick. He felt … something … touch him, something he couldn't name except to call it evil.

And then the presence was gone and he was left alone in the scorching desert next to a bloody mess that had once been a man.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

The Doctor, his glasses perched precariously on his nose, moved one of his game pieces which was immediately captured by Tegan. He was about to question the legality of her move when the patio screen was practically torn off its hinges and Adric tumbled into the room. The mild reprimand he was about to issue died on his lips – Adric was ghost-pale and there was a bright crimson pool of blood on his tunic and spatters on his face. Nyssa gave an incoherent gasp.

"Get me a blanket and some water," the Doctor rapped. "The first aid kit is under the sink – hurry." He reached out a hand to Adric but the boy flinched as though whipped. His eyes were glassy, staring, and his breathing was close to hyperventilation.

"Adric? Look at me." The Time Lord passed his fingers across Adric's eyeline, breaking his trance and the Alzarian gave a low guttural moan. He was beginning to shake violently. The Doctor led him to the cushions, kneeling next to him. Blood dripped onto the cushions and the Doctor had to fight back the panic at what sort of wound could cause that amount of blood. Urging the Alzarian to lie back, he grasped the seam of the tunic and ripped the material apart, momentarily closing his eyes in relief when he saw that Adric was uninjured. He yanked the soggy tunic off and, with an expression of disgust, kicked it away. Tegan and Nyssa hovered a few feet away, giving the two men some privacy but unable to abandon Adric completely. Nyssa glanced once at the blood-soaked tunic and quickly looked away.

"Adric, what's happened? Adric, you're safe now but you have to tell me." The Doctor wrapped the blanket round Adric and again passed his fingers in front of the his eyes. This time Adric's gaze focused.

"Doctor?" he asked, like a child waking from a nightmare.

"Yes, I'm here. What's happened?"

Adric's breathing increased. "Dead. Blood everywhere – I couldn't stop them. They tore – " He stopped suddenly, clamped his hand over his mouth and half ran, half staggered, for the bathroom. The Doctor followed him, supporting his shoulders and head while he was violently sick. When nothing was left, the boy huddled in the corner of the bathroom, shuddering.

The Doctor poured a glass of water and held it to his lips. "Swill your mouth out. And again. Good lad."

Once he was sure his companion wasn't going to be sick again, he gave him a clean tunic and led him back to the living room where the women took over the nurse-maiding duties; Nyssa sat next to him on the cushions with her arm round him while Tegan curled his fingers round a mug of very sweet tea and clucked and chirruped at him until he drank it all down. While the Alzarian was thus occupied, the Doctor removed the blood-soaked tunic and scrubbed the flags until only a vague pinkish stain remained.

"Better?" Nyssa asked. The word seemed to bring Adric out of his reverie because he blinked a few times and sat up straighter.

"Sorry, I couldn't – "

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Nyssa said firmly.

"Adric?" the Doctor said and waited for the other to make eye contact; he could sense that the his pulse had eased and that he was less shaky. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Adric's gaze lowered. "I was in the garden. I saw a man in the desert – he was running towards the colony. I went to help him. He looked driven half mad by something." He licked his lips and Tegan proffered another mug of tea. Taking a deep steadying breath, he continued. "I'd just got to him … when they came."

"Who?" the Doctor prompted gently. Adric shook his head and bit down on the flesh of his tightly clenched fist to stop himself from retching again.

"Them, the Shades," he managed after a few minutes' struggle. "They're out there. They're real. They're not a myth. I couldn't see them – they were invisible - but I could hear them. Screams, wails – awful sounds. I thought I'd go mad. He did go mad – they drove him mad before they killed him, I know they did." He pulled his knees up to his chest, rocking gently.

"They killed him?" Nyssa asked, her face aghast.

"They ripped him apart. I saw it. I couldn't stop them." He looked up at the Doctor, pleading for understanding. "I tried but I couldn't move. They shredded him alive – and I couldn't stop them!"

"So what are these Shades, Doctor?" Tegan asked, casting a wary glance out the patio door to the rolling dunes beyond the garden. It was a while later. Adric had returned from his protracted shower where he had scrubbed away the blood and gore and was currently huddled on the cushions, another cup of tea lying abandoned at his side. He was alert and responsive if still a little pale.

"Not enough data to say for sure," the Doctor replied to Tegan's query. "They may be symbiotically linked to the sand – or they may be the sand itself. One thing is clear, they obviously have great telepathic and telekinetic powers if they can drive a man insane and then … well, do what they did."

Tegan absorbed this latest piece of information and found it did nothing to ease her mind. "How come they haven't driven the whole colony mad? You can't hear their voices in the colony – why?"

"The Shield," the Doctor supplied.

"Of course," Nyssa exclaimed. She was hovering by Adric. "It must block telepathic emissions as well as filtering out adverse environmental conditions."

The Doctor was lost in thought, pacing back and forth. "I thought from the outset that it had to be more than just an atmosphere Shield – it is much too complex. And I did wonder why a relatively small colony on a backwater planet required such a financially-draining array just to control temperature."

"That doesn't explain why the harvesters are not attacked – or us for that matter at the forest," Nyssa stated.

"Oh, undoubtedly there are attacks from time to time," the Doctor muttered vaguely.

"But for the most part the harvesters are safe," Tegan theorised, "because they work at night and in large convoys of heavily armoured vehicles."

"Partly, Tegan," the Doctor replied. "Remember those banks of instrumentation in the tractor – highly specialised and complex equipment for a bunch of farmers. I wondered what their significance was at the time – my theory would be that they produce a less complex version of the Shield. As to why we weren't attacked at the forest, make your own guess. It might have been because it was still too early – they are active in sunlight, remember - or we may have been plain lucky." The Doctor looked suddenly thoughtful. "Or it may be something about us or the forest."

"The colony does use an awful lot of crystal so perhaps crystal is poisonous to the Shades." Tegan said and then grinned. "Like Kryptonite!"

Adric stirred slightly, participating in the conversation for the first time. "So what do we do now, Doctor?"

"We'll need to tell the authorities but first I need to examine the remains. You'll have to show me where the man died."

Tegan sucked in a breath. "Doctor! He's just had a harrowing experience – you can't expect him to go back out there." The Doctor dismissed her objection with a wave of his hand as if, she thought with indignation, he was totally oblivious of Adric's feelings. She folded her arms, preparing once again for battle. "You can't just ride rough-shod over his emotions like that – "

"I have to see what happened."

"Wasn't his account gory enough for you? How can you ask him to face it again?"

The Doctor had maintained a studied patience but now he snapped. "Tegan, I am well aware of the trauma he's endured but it's the best way."

Tegan opened her mouth to object further but Adric was standing, displacing cushions in his wake. "It's alright, Tegan," he said with a wan smile. "Anyway, I'd rather go out there than be force-fed another cup of tea."

The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder and led him through the screen to the garden, surprised when the two women followed. "It isn't necessary for you two to come."

"If Adric's going, so are we," Tegan said firmly, elbowing the Doctor rather rudely out of the way and striding towards the gate. A peacock which had been drinking from their fountain raised its fan-like tail and gave its rather mournful caw as they passed.

The four crested the dune and Adric, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon, pointed. "Down there." The Doctor looked where he pointed but all he saw was sand.

"Are you sure?" Tegan asked, nervously looking about her. "All these dunes look alike."

Adric was frowning; he slipped down the dune and arrived at the spot, gazing round himself in puzzlement. "This is it, I know it is." He looked across at the Doctor. "You have to believe me! I am not making this up!"

Nyssa came to stand next to him, squeezing his arm but he shook her off angrily. "No-one is questioning your veracity."

The Doctor had walked a little apart and was scooping sand with his booted foot, his eyes scanning the surface. Tegan followed him. "Doctor?" she said, reflecting, despite the gravity of the situation that she seemed to spend an inordinate amount of her time saying 'Doctor?' "Surely he didn't imagine it?"

"Not unless he imagined the blood too. I think the answer is rather obvious."

She rolled her eyes. "You mean the sand has covered the body?"

"Hardly, Tegan. I mean the body has been removed. The authorities have gone to an awful lot of trouble to cover this up."

"Perhaps the police removed his … remains," Nyssa suggested as she and Adric joined them. The Doctor was sieving the sand through his fingers.

"It takes hours for a crime scene to be examined and recorded properly. Photographs, official reports, samples. It's been less than an hour and there is no sign – none. No blood, no stains on the sand." He gave a cynical smile. "A very neat job – implies a certain amount of practice, I would say."

"But even if you are right," Nyssa said as they began to walk back, "why would the authorities cover up the death?"

Tegan had the answer. "Paranoia, propaganda. He doesn't want to upset the status quo."

"He?" Nyssa asked.

"Yes, our friendly neighbourhood High Priest," the Doctor said. "Imagine how his devoted followers would feel if they discovered that the Shades had mutilated someone just hours after Lorac's appeasement Celebration."

Adric stared dull-eyed at the desert. He should be asleep, he knew he should but sleep eluded him. His mind replayed the day's distressing events and he pulled his knees up to his chest, the memory of what he had witnessed still fresh. Although seeing the man in the desert physically hacked to pieces had been obscene that was not the main source of his anguish and aversion. It was the sense of … evil.

Out there in the desert, with the sun beating down on him like he was in his own private hell, he had felt the touch of pure evil - and for a second it had wanted him. Hungered for him.

He yanked his mind away and glanced over at the Doctor who was sleeping the sleep of the innocent – or at least the untormented – and considered for the fourth time in as many minutes waking him up. He sighed. He would drive himself crazy if he stayed where he was, continually going over the same mental holding-pattern to keep the demon thoughts at bay. With no other motive than to relieve the monotony, he hopped off the window seat and padded noiselessly out of the room, sliding the frosted glass screen across inch by inch until there was just enough room to squeeze through.

He poured himself an iced drink and slumped down in the only chair, an uncomfortable office chair, and put his feet up on the desk (since the Doctor was not there to scold him about breaking his back if he fell off). He stared round the living room, seeking inspiration to keep his mind occupied. The fancy crystal water clock chimed two and he sighed – for all his insomnia, it was not a comfortable feeling being awake through the dead watches of the night. Crystal, he thought tetchily, even their clocks are made of wretched crystal. Sighing, he lifted his tumbler to his lips, starting to put all four chair legs on the floor so he wouldn't choke. At the last second one of the legs slipped, he overcompensated to stop himself from falling and as a consequence the glass slithered from his grasp and shattered on the flagstone floor.

Guilt-stricken and irritated (more at the fact that the Doctor had been right about not leaning back in his chair), he started to pick the shards up carefully. At the mental word 'shards', something niggled at the back of his mind. Resuming his chair, he tried to concentrate on it but, like a word one cannot remember, the more he tried to capture the memory, the further it danced away.

The old Doctor had taught him a technique called 'gestalting' where one linked ideas together to find the missing piece. He could see the sun glinting off the brown tousled hair, the twinkle of amusement in the expressive eyes and hear that deep lugubrious voice. He shook his head, half in a gesture of defeat, half in negation – he didn't want to remember the old Doctor, it just made the comparison with the new even more pronounced. And yet he found himself trying the technique, almost as if it would be somehow impolite to the old Doctor's memory to dismiss it. _Shards_, he wrote on his notepad, _glass, crystal, desert, shades_.

The only image that came into his tired mind was totally unconnected to anything – he had suddenly thought about Aukon, who had once been Officer O'Connor on the Hydrax before he had become a vampire. Rolling his eyes, he permitted himself a wry smile – it just showed how batty and eccentric the old Doctor's ideas were.

Admitting defeat and feeling annoyed at both the conundrum and himself, he threw his notepad aside – he'd better pick up the glass before he got pieces embedded in his feet.

He carried the broken glass into the kitchen, feeling unsettled and restless. Something outside caught his attention. The kitchen window faced the front of the house and in the street that should have been deserted at this time of night was a parade of white robed figures. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Lorac's priests, he thought, abruptly recollecting Maxwell's words about strange nocturnal rituals conducted down at the temple.

He should call the Doctor, he knew he should, but for some reason he didn't want to. He told himself that he didn't have time – by the time the Doctor was awake and dressed, something terrible might have happened – but a small voice in his head whispered traitorously that the real reason was that he didn't want to share his discovery with the Doctor. And anyway, he reasoned perversely and illogically, the Doctor would only scold him for being awake so he might as well do something worthy of the scold first. He shrugged into his Tsaharan clothes and hastily scrawled a note under his earlier gestalting for his companions, before slipping out into the night.

The streets were, as he had feared, now deserted. The colony was still and in the stillness the air smelt even more like baked earth, hot and arid. He rather liked it. He made his way to the central area, being careful to keep to well-lighted streets. As he passed one street, he saw the shape of a tractor toiling away from the colony. A few minutes later another followed it, then another – a whole convoy in fact. Something Maxwell had said came back to him – the harvesters worked only at night. Only at night, when the sun wasn't shining and the Shades were inactive. With a name like Shades, he thought pedantically, you'd think they'd like the darkness.

He was only a few streets away from the temple now but the streets were no longer deserted. Ethereal robed figures could be glimpsed every now and then, all going in the same direction, towards the temple; they did not walk but drifted on silent feet from shadow to shadow like ghosts. He shivered – it wasn't a comfortable simile. At one point he saw a garbage collector on his early morning rounds; the man started in obvious fear when he saw the figures and studiously avoided looking in their direction.

Adric walked through the Temple gardens, pausing by the water fountain for a quick drink. Despite it being night it was still intolerably hot. A peacock was asleep on the bench. Tegan had told him that peacocks were attributes of the goddess Hera; the eyes in their tail feathers were supposed to symbolise the all-seeing eye. He wondered, somewhat wryly, if Lorac knew the myth and if so what he needed the quality of omnivision for. The bird opened its sapphire eye and hissed at him. He gave the bird a wide berth for fear of being pecked.

He thought he glimpsed a movement in the orange grove ahead but dismissed it as just the play of shadow on the leaves. A moment later, robed figures had set upon him.

He fought dirty, like Tylos would have done, and was gratified to see one of his assailants fall to the ground clutching a delicate part of his anatomy. Adric eyed the rest warily, his mathematician's mind already calculating the odds and finding them disappointingly (not to mention alarmingly) overwhelming. They were circling him, moving closer and closer. Admitting defeat, he raised his hands in the way the old Doctor had taught him and two of them came forward to secure him, twisting his arms up his back painfully. The man whom Adric had kicked coiled to his feet and aimed a venomous blow at Adric's unprotected groin but a commanding voice stopped him:

"No! I told you, he must be unmarked. Without blemish or impurity." Before Adric's startled, uncomprehending gaze, Lorac, the High Priest materialised from the shadows. Another time he might have laughed, for the High Priest was decked out in all his finery, jewels dripping from the heavy folds of his white robes while a large conical hat of some consequence sat atop his head, but Adric saw the expression on the cleric's face and all thoughts of hilarity fled – Lorac looked mad, his eyes lit by the same fanaticism that Adric had seen in Hindle's. The difference was that Hindle was insane and Lorac was most chillingly rational.

Lorac had taken a step closer to him and grasped his chin firmly, studying him, scrutinising him, and Adric couldn't help but blush at such an intimate perusal. "This is a fortuitous turn of events: the quarry coming to the hunter." His tone turned bantering. "I was just about to send the faithful to collect you. How very co-operative of you."

Sucking in a steadying breath, his anger cancelling out some of the fear, Adric said, "Let me go. I am an Honoured Guest of the Tetrarch."

"The Tetrarch is nothing. Only the appeasement of the Shades is important. They are hungry," Lorac purred, and Adric stared helplessly at the light of unholy zeal in his eyes. "They hunger more and more these days."

"Fed up with goat, are they?" Adric asked, deliberately goading but Lorac ignored the words.

"You committed blasphemy when you stepped out onto the unconsecrated sand of the desert to help the unclean one. I can feel their anger and wrath but your blood and flesh will appease them."

Another memory resurfaced – a glimpse of white out in the desert. "You! You were in the desert when he died – I saw you. You'll never get away with this!"

"Dear child, so innocent. You are the latest in a long line of sacrifices worthy enough to feed the Shades."

Adric stared at him aghast, more pieces falling into place: the nocturnal rituals, the mysterious disappearances. "The Doctor knows what you are up to!" he blurted out, desperate to say anything, even if it wasn't true.

A complacent smile as if the Doctor were of no consequence, and Lorac caressed his face with his skeletal fingers. Adric shuddered. "He too shall appease them in due course, my child."

"What…?"

"He too is an unbeliever," Lorac explained as if talking to a small, rather backward child, "I will send the faithful to your abode and your companions will be brought to the temple. Rejoice, for your blood will mingle with theirs."

It was too much for him. Aware of nothing except the desperate need to save his friends, Adric marshalled together his waning energy and, using his captors' grip on his arms as a lever he kicked upward, his feet contacting with the High Priest's nose. As he had anticipated, his captors loosed their hold, reeling in shock at their leader's predicament, and he wrenched free. Hands grabbed for him but he ducked away and ran off into the night.

He ran, desperate to gain the house and warn the Doctor. Finally however, when he had raced up a road and found himself facing the garden (like the recursion of Castrovalva, he thought) he realised he had lost all sense of direction. Repeating some of Tegan's choicer swear words, which she used when the Doctor wasn't about, he was about to double back when voices drifted to him on the still air. He pressed back against the trunk of an orange tree and peeked out. Lorac, with his minions fawning at his feet, was striding right towards him, obviously oblivious to his presence. He held his breath and waited for them to pass.

"The night draws on," the High Priest was saying and he sounded exasperated and irritated, rather than fanatical and spiritual.

"We cannot find him, Most Holy," grovelled one of the guards which earned him a smart slap across the face. Adric immediately felt better.

"You'd better or you will be the ones who feed their hunger. The faithful gather."

"The man with the vegetable on his coat, the woman with the curls and the woman with the loud voice – we can still bring them to you instead."

Lorac's robes swirled round him. "It's better than nothing. Very well. Bring them to me without delay! We have only three hours before dawn."

Once the men had gone - Lorac towards the temple, the men down a road at right angles - Adric sagged against his tree. He quickly reviewed his situation, once more escaping into the comfortable world of maths where equations added up and all was absolute. The High Priest's happy posse would be able to get to the Doctor before Adric since they knew the way better; the Doctor and the others would be caught unprepared. He calculated the odds and knew them to be insurmountable. Lorac obviously needed his sacrifice to be … dispatched before daylight, therefore Adric must keep the priests occupied himself. If he could keep in sight but just out of reach, they would spend the intervening time on him, not on the Doctor. There was no mathematical alternative. Ignoring the well of fear coiling in his belly, Adric jogged after the departing men.

He led them on a merry dance. He had worked out where his house was by now but dared not run for it in case he drew his pursuers after him. He was getting tired and thirsty and it was taking more and more ingenuity to avoid capture himself. He was trying to think where next to lead them when he turned a corner and walked right into them – they must have slipped down one of the parallel alleys. While he was still trying to process the information, one of the men came up behind him and caught his arm. He spun awkwardly but too late – he heard the hiss of a hypo and collapsed into the man's waiting arms.

His last thought was 'I hope I have bought the Doctor enough time…'


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

Adric came round with a mighty headache and sandy eyes. The pain was so great that he briefly considered falling back into unconsciousness but then he opened his eyes and the headache became the least of his worries. He was lying face up on a cold surface in a high vaulted room, illuminated by flickering candles: the temple ante-chamber. Cloying incense wafted on the air and there was a strange chanting in his ears. Ten figures, dressed now (disturbingly) in blood red robes, were lined up in front of him, their faces covered; they were moving rhythmically from one foot to another, droning discordantly under their breaths in what he assumed was some sort of religious ecstasy.

He tried to move to see more clearly but discovered that he could not move more than an inch: his muscles appearing to be frozen. He took a deep breath, trying to remember the breathing techniques that the Doctor had taught him but they didn't help. He was helpless.

The chanting changed pitch abruptly and Lorac, also dressed in red robes, entered his field of vision. On every one of his gaunt white fingers and thumbs he wore bejewelled rings that caught the twinkling light of the candles. His nose was still a little bloody from Adric's kick but he wore a gloating smile of supreme satisfaction. He reached out his hand and Adric tried to flinch away from the long bony finger that caressed his cheek.

"Foolish child," the High Priest crooned. A priest materialised at Lorac's side with a knife held on his out-spread palms. His chest heaving, Adric struggled again but his mightiest exertion produced no more than a tiny flinch of movement; exhausted he sagged back against the stone he was lying on. Lorac smiled as if aware of his thoughts and skimmed the blade down his chest before abruptly hooking it under the cuff of his sleeve and, with one smooth movement, slicing the material apart from wrist to shoulder. A few more deft slashes and Adric's tunic was reduced to nothing more than rags, his torso exposed. Lorac handed the remains to another robed individual who picked them up with a pair of tongs and dropped them into a flaming brazier. Adric barely noticed, for Lorac was working on his trousers; when he got to the waistband, Adric tensed as much as his unco-operative body would allow. It got worse after that.

He heard the sound of water and saw Lorac wringing out a sponge which he then ran slowly, sensuously, over Adric's naked body, exposing him, moving his dead limbs this way and that as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. Adric tried to escape into the sanctuary of mathematics but found even that sanctuary was barred to him. When the priest put aside the sponge and began exploring him for blemishes, skating his fingers across his chest and stomach before skimming them between his legs, Adric's self-control, what there had been of it, snapped. Since he was still held immobile by the effects of the drug, he did the only thing he could do - he began to scream.

Eventually the invading hands that had played so intimately with him stilled and Lorac said in a voice of quiet triumph. "He is unblemished and will make a suitable offering. Prepare him."

Adric caught a glimpse of the altar as Lorac strode from the room and then his attention was taken by the priest who was bringing over a bundle of clothes. As he was man-handled this way and that while he was dressed, Adric closed his hands into fists and the realisation that the drug was wearing off, albeit fractionally, gave him the first glimmer of hope. Covertly he flexed the muscles in his leg but was careful to appear as floppy and unresponsive as before. Once he was fully dressed - in a long white robe with draw-string pants beneath but nothing on his feet - he was lifted onto a stretcher and carried into the temple nave in a ceremonious procession. The fear was like a living thing coiling in his mind as he was lifted easily from the stretcher onto the altar where Lorac presided, tall and imposing. "No," he murmured beyond terror, "please no."

Lorac ignored him, merely nodded to a priest who produced a length of silk which he wound over Adric's mouth; when he was gagged, Lorac raised his arms to the heavens and said in a portentous voice: "Accept this sacrifice, Shades of the desert, as a token of our worship and devotion!"

Then he twitched apart Adric's robe, baring his chest and held aloft a long knife, the blade of which was fashioned from crystal. "Shades of the desert, hear me, Lorac, the chosen High Priest of Tsahara. Accept our sacrifice and find him worthy. Accept him as a token of our respect and deliver us unto a bountiful harvest and peaceful year! Drink his blood, oh Shades, feast on his flesh!"

He raised the knife high and both the blade and the rings flashed crimson. Adric screwed his eyes tight shut, his last thoughts flying to the Doctor.

But the blade did not stab; instead Lorac sliced it into his chest above his heart, deep enough to draw a well of blood but not deep enough to cause serious injury. Adric bit the gag in an effort to keep from crying out. Lorac smeared the flowing blood over the knife and held it up to the light so Adric could see it trickling over the blade. Then he took up a small whip, paddled the lashes in the rapidly growing pool gathering on Adric's chest and raised it to spatter the blood over the altar's central crystal structure. Once this was done three times, with Adric unable to keep back moans of pain as the blood began to dribble down his ribs and sides, the High Priest placed the whip and knife on a frosted glass plate. He turned to the robed figures who had stopped their rhythmic chanting.

"Take the body to the Place of Sacrifice in the desert. Go in peace, my children." He wove his arms in a ritual blessing and turned towards the crystal structure, his interest in Adric apparently ended. The priests came to lift him onto the stretcher and the pain sent him into welcoming oblivion.

The unbeliever had been sent into the desert, pinned down as a sacrifice: it had been a good night. Lorac, High Priest, strode through the temple, extinguishing candles on his way out, his heavy robes scraping across the ground. It was a pity he had not been able to secure the rest of the strangers but was confident that he would be able to do so this coming evening.

Lorac paused suddenly as some instinct pricked. He turned slowly in the dim light, his fingers reaching for the small crystal dagger he kept strapped to his forearm. A figure stood in the doorway of the Administration Building opposite. With a cold smile Lorac went to the temple porch and waited there, knowing that his shadowy guest would approach. He removed his bloody outer garments and ritually washed his hands in the sacred water, and then with an ironic bow he turned to his visitor.

"Well?"

"I saw your procession leave the temple just now."

"My compliments on your eyesight."

"You have gone too far, Lorac. This time, you have gone too far!"

"Stop bleating. The Sect will protect me."

"Oh please. You can drop the fanatic act, Most Holy. We both know how empty your religion is."

"I could have you killed for such blasphemy," he said menacingly. Usually his visitor would have run for cover by now; uncharacteristically he stood straighter and met Lorac glare for glare. Lorac's smile widened.

"Let us be quite clear, High Priest: you killed the boy because he threatened your position of power with what he witnessed and because you enjoy holding a world in thrall. Just as you killed all the other poor wretches whom you sent out into the desert."

"The Shades have been thirsty of late," he said wryly.

"Listen, I have turned a blind eye so far – "

"Naturally. I secured your present job for you and, more to the point, I keep your secret." Lorac leaned in until his hooked nose was bare inches from the other's. "Remember that when your conscience pricks, my friend – I keep your secret."

He began to walk away but the other man caught his arm, jerked him back fiercely. "Hear me, Most Holy. Killing a few dim-witted wretches who were stupid enough to oppose your will is one thing but killing one of this Doctor's friends is another matter."

"He is an unbeliever."

"You stupid idiot! The Doctor is an important man with connections to the Homeworld which he calls Earth. He won't rest until the boy's disappearance is accounted for. All he has to do is dig a little and we are both exposed."

Lorac regarded his visitor with contempt. "I imagine that makes you very nervous, Tetrarch Quill." He bowed mockingly and departed.

The Doctor woke early as was his habit. He indulged in a bath rather than a shower and dressed in the clean Tsaharan costume that their house keeper had set ready for him the evening before. He had noticed the bureaucrats and administrators tended to wear grey trousers and shirt, Lorac's devoted followers white and the harvesters purple. He wondered what the significance of his blue was – stranger? He fastened the many tasselled sash and went through to the bedroom to wake Adric. He stopped: Adric wasn't in bed nor was he curled up on the window seat – in fact, the mass of cushions were far too neatly piled to suggest anyone had slept on them. Raising his eyebrow, he strolled into the living quarters, expecting to see Adric already at breakfast or pored over some book. The Alzarian was conspicuous by his absence but there was a hastily scrawled note on his pad which he'd left on the desk: _Doctor, Couldn't sleep so I've gone for a walk. Back for breakfast. Adric. P.S. Yes, Tegan, I am being careful._

Shaking his head in familiar exasperation at Adric's impulsiveness, the Doctor began to prepare breakfast, removing a stack of frosted glass bowls from the cupboard and slicing the fruit. He added a good dollop of the locally produced yoghurt and a sprinkle of oat-like cereal. As he poured the coffee his mind went over the events of yesterday: There was no question Adric had endured a profoundly disturbing experience; he had seen a man brutally murdered before his eyes. The Doctor had talked to him later and even then he had had the distinct impression that Adric was holding something back, that there was more behind his distress than simply the man's hideous death. The Doctor frowned to himself; he should have been more alert to Adric's condition. He glanced over at the water clock and his half-hearted worry grew when he realised just how late it was – Adric really should be back by now. In fact, when he did come back, he was going to get a piece of the Doctor's mind.

When the women joined him, he was pacing the cool flag stones, his hands behind his back since the Tsaharans did not believe in pockets. He looked up at them keenly. "Adric's not here. I'm worried about the young idiot."

"You can't do this!! Please, let me go. Please!"

Adric had come round in Lorac's sleek speeder, already half way to his final destination – a place called (somewhat unimaginatively) the Place of Sacrifice. Dawn had just broken and the early sun was bathing the dunes blood red. The drug had worn off almost completely by now but his captors were obviously highly skilled at their job and his resistance was easily overcome. He struggled violently but one of his captors, with the same clinical detachment as a hangman readying the gallows, grasped his arms and overbalanced him while the second grabbed his legs. It all happened so quickly and efficiently that Adric didn't have time to think about kicking. They then swung him up onto a huge stone altar and secured him, spread-eagled, with ropes. The first sniffed, checked the ropes and began to return to the speeder, never once looking at Adric or acknowledging him. The second hesitated.

"Won't be a sec, Jarvin!" he called cheerfully to his companion who sniffed again and got into the speeder where he proceeded to put his feet up on the dash and take a swig of something from a metal canteen. The second man turned quickly to Adric. "Listen boy, I can't save you – my life's on the line just talking to you but there's such a thing as plain humanity." He cupped Adric's face gently, almost paternally. "I have a boy your age. Just got a job on Homeworld."

Adric opened his mouth but he clapped his hand over it, saying: "No time for that boy and nothing you say is going to change the fact that I don't have a choice." He cast a look back at his counterpart then slid a knife from his tunic and curled Adric's fingers round it. "Open a vein. At least that way it'll be painless. They'll come soon enough." He hesitated again and then backed away. "I'm sorry, boy." He turned away completely and practically ran back to the waiting vehicle.

Jarvin gunned the engine and the speeder soared away.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

Three hours after reading Adric's note and Tegan thought she was going to go mad; she glanced at her companion: Nyssa was pretending to read a book but Tegan knew for a fact she had been on the same page for the last five minutes; the Doctor was out in the colony trying to find their missing friend.

"Alright," she snapped, her concern coming out as anger. "He's not back yet - what are the options? And if you say 'we wait,' I swear I will scream."

Nyssa closed her book and looked prim. "We're all worried, Tegan but we must remain calm. There may be many explanations for his absence."

She ground her teeth. Nyssa had given her the same lecture during the Event One crisis and, frankly, she was getting a little tired of her head-girl complex. "I am calm! Rabbits!"

The front door opened, admitting a gust of hot air and the Doctor. Tegan leapt to her feet. "Well?"

"No-one's seen him," the Doctor said in agitation, beginning to pace.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Shhh, I'm thinking."

Rather than beat the Doctor over the head with the water clock, Tegan grabbed up Adric's note and read it again in the vain hope that they had missed something. She peered at the rather scrawled writing – specifically at the gobbledegook above the note. "What does that say at the top? Shades, glass, crystals, desert, shades. I can't make out the last word."

Partly to placate Tegan, partly to provide some sort of occupation to keep her mind away from its unsettling thoughts, Nyssa took the notepad. She almost sighed in disappointment but suppressed it. "It says Aukon." She paused, looking over at the Doctor. "What is an Aukon?"

The Doctor's pacing was becoming more agitated by the second. "Hmm? Aukon, formerly O'Connor, was a vampire. Servant of the Great Vampire. Romana, Adric and I encountered him – " He broke off, frowning at the two women. "This isn't the time for stories," he said impatiently and returned to his pacing, muttering to himself.

The women exchanged long-suffering glances. "But why did Adric – " Tegan began but the Doctor was clearly not listening. In a whirl of movement, he was making for the door.

"Come along," he rapped as he broke into a brisk trot, "we don't have much time! Adric's in trouble!"

"Where are we going?" Tegan asked for the hundredth time as she and Nyssa scrambled after the determined figure of the Doctor through the streets of the colony. Such was his air of focus that the crowds of shoppers and businessmen parted before him like the Red Sea. The heat was oppressive today and both she and Nyssa were soaked through with sweat. If the Doctor was affected he wasn't showing it.

"Doctor, please!" Nyssa said and the Doctor finally turned back to them. He saw how hot Nyssa especially looked and he led her to a bench, placing a cooling hand to her forehead. "I'll be fine in a moment," she said, gratefully accepting the drink an hospitable store holder brought her. She looked up at the Doctor and her gentleness got through to him where Tegan's abrasiveness had not. "Please tell us where we are going."

He squinted at the desert just visible at the other end of the street and offered a rather bleak smile. "To see Lorac. I think I know what has happened to Adric. He's been taken for sacrifice."

"Sacrifice!!" Tegan blurted out, "What do you mean sacrifice – "

" – Sacrifice means an offering to a god, sometimes of appeasement," Nyssa began helpfully. Tegan silenced her with a glare.

"I know what sacrifice means!" She stopped, her anger replaced by disgust and fear. "Oh God, Adric."

"Maxwell hinted that Lorac has been performing these rites for quite a while," the Doctor continued. "I just wish I'd paid more attention. The disappearances, the unexplained deaths. Lorac removes those members of the colony who pose a threat to him."

"Yes, but sacrifice. Why doesn't he just shoot the dissenters? It's … it's plain wrong."

The Doctor smiled without humour. "He's the High Priest, Tegan. He has to maintain the integrity of the Sect at any cost. How would it look if he merely shot someone? Religious heresy requires appropriate retribution to prevent further rebellion. It's no accident, for example, that Catholic heretics were burnt at the stake. Besides, what better way of justifying your murders than saying you were appeasing your gods and protecting the faithful."

Tegan put her hand over her mouth fighting the instinct to be sick. "Adric? Is he … He's not dead, is he?"

The Doctor patted her hand awkwardly. "No, he's not dead. I would have sensed that. Lorac doesn't kill his sacrifices; he merely takes a blood offering then has the body taken into the desert. And if we don't get to Adric soon, he'll die of dehydration and heat stroke, never mind the Shades!"

Tegan stopped the Doctor again as they made their way across the garden, passing (if they only knew it) the fountain where Adric had drunk the night before. "You have to think this through." When he showed no signs of stopping or even slowing down, she stepped deliberately in front of him. "You can't just confront Lorac. It's suicide! It's a sure way of ending up out there with Adric." The Doctor neatly side-stepped her but the air hostess was made of sterner stuff than that. "Exactly how is being captured or thrown out into the desert going to help Adric?"

At that he spun round, his face as angry as she had ever seen it. When he spoke it was in a barely controlled voice. "We need to know where they have taken him. They will have a precise, sanctified area where the offerings are left. Without that information, it will take months to comb that desert for him." He took a deep breath, rallying his patience. "I am well aware how fool-hardy and risky this is - but it's the only way." A little awkwardly, he reached out his hands to rest them lightly on the shoulders of each of his companions and tried to summon up a smile – he failed miserably. "We don't have much time."

Tegan nodded, most of her anger dissipating in the face of her friend's very obvious distress. As the Doctor resumed their frantic pace, he said, "And if you come up with a smarter plan, do please let me know!"

For a long time after the speeder's departure, Adric just lay there, staring up at the unremitting blue of the sky, thinking of nothing, aware of nothing except the beat of his heart, magnified by the stillness of the desert. It lulled him. He was very tired now for it had been a long stressful day followed by an even longer, sleepless night. He curled his fingers round the knife and thought how simple it would be to slash his wrist and slip away.

No-one would miss him. He was so far from home that any attempt at measuring the distance was ludicrous. Even if he could return to the Starliner, he would always be an Outsider and an orphan. His family was dead, even Varsh was dead, killed brutally by the Marshmen. Then there was the TARDIS and his new life. Romana was gone, K-9 was gone, left behind at the gateway – and he still remembered the shock when the Doctor had told him, how he had cried that night in the TARDIS at another family member abandoning him. Nyssa might miss him but it was always so hard to tell with the prim Traken and of late a barrier had grown up between them. Tegan wouldn't miss him, he thought bitterly, she would probably throw a party, for their interaction seemed to be limited to squabbles and sniping.

His morbid thoughts turned to the Doctor and as always when he thought the word 'Doctor', the image that formed had riotous curly hair and a silly scarf. It still hurt. It still hurt so much, losing the old Doctor, like he had lost his father all over again. The old Doctor would have moved mountains to find him and the old Doctor - his Doctor – would miss him.

The new Doctor would not. Adric was nothing more than an irritant to him. He saw the way the Doctor looked at him sometimes, remembered the cutting comments and reprimands. No, the new Doctor would feel guilty at his death – just as he felt guilty for every human's death – but it wouldn't be a personal loss.

He knew it hadn't always been like this. He knew it was partly his own fault that his bond with the Doctor had broken and he remembered how the Doctor had come to his room after Castrovalva and had tried to talk to him about the Master and the effects of his regeneration. He hadn't been able to talk to the Time Lord then, hadn't been able to talk to him later and over the weeks that followed he had buried the memories of his old friend and watched the Doctor drift away from him.

He could still hear the beat of his heart, but it was getting louder now, almost pulsing until the air itself seemed to throb and thrum to the rhythm. The thrumming vibrated in his ribcage and hurt his ears …

Sudden crippling fear seized him as realisation dawned. The Shades were here.

Now that he was attentive, he could hear their hissing and cackling voices on the wind that they were stirring up. He sliced frantically at the ropes, his petrified gaze darting round the hollow. He had to get away, had to get away. His universe had narrowed into that one thought; nothing else mattered except that he escape the choirs of hell that promised nothing but mental torture.

He saw tiny motes of sand dancing in the still air like snow. More and more fluttered over the altar; they were not falling to the floor but whirling and dancing round him. Hacking at the last rope, the knife threatening to slip from his sweaty grip, he leapt down, windmilling his hands in front of his face as if he could ward them off. The Shades circled closer like hunters closing for the kill. They whisked through his hair and stirred his clothes, all the while chanting and howling their siren songs of death. Adric couldn't understand their language, if language it were, but he understood its malevolence and hatred only too well. He coughed and the sand flooded into his mouth not like inanimate particles but like swarming vermin. This way and that way the Shades forced him, nipping at his skin, laughing and howling at his terror.

Finally after what seemed a lifetime, they tired of their game and he found himself scrambling away from the Place of Sacrifice. He didn't want to live but he would not die like that. He toiled up and down the dunes, forcing his legs to keep moving, each gasping breath burning down his throat and into his lungs. He crested another dune and his foot slipped in the giving sand, sending him head over heels down the sloping side. He landed with a bone-jarring thud.

Perhaps the fall knocked some sense into him or perhaps it was just that his body, deprived of food, water and sleep for so long, simply could not maintain that level of frenzy but Adric discovered that he was still lucid and sane. The Shades had been toying with him like a cat toys with a mouse. They had not meant to kill him. Yet. The realisation gave him no pleasure; he was beyond pleasure, beyond terror. His emotions were dulled and everything appeared grey and lifeless. He sighed and shifted uncomfortably; he was in the shade of the dune he'd fallen down but the sand was blisteringly hot through the thin material of his clothes.

Like a man rising from a nightmare that might still claim him, he looked about him, and of its own accord his mind began to take stock of his situation. It examined his plight dispassionately, reducing it to simple mathematical equations which were at once comforting and familiar. E equalled MC squared, and staying here equalled death by torment and insanity - it was a mathematical certainty. He did not particularly want to live – even breathing required effort like his lungs would much rather be still – but he did not want to die at the merciless hands of the Shades.

The Shades fed off sunlight; therefore he had to find shelter. Not life but shelter. He reviewed his options without enthusiasm but with a grit-teethed resignation: Return to the colony was the obvious option to take. In the speeder he had had the presence of mind to take a reading off the speedometer and he calculated that the colony lay 50 miles to the south. Option two was make for the TARDIS but he dismissed this out of hand because he did not know its precise location and anyway he did not have a key. He raised his eyes to squint west beyond the monotony of the dunes to the vast lumbering shadow on the horizon – the Ahaggar mountains. Distances in the desert were deceptive but they were obviously closer than the colony. Possibly the Shades would not follow him into that strange environment or perhaps he would find a cave or other shelter there.

He'd make for the mountains and wait there either to die or to be rescued. The decision seemed to energise him slightly and for the first time in hours he began to think that he might like to live. He pulled himself to his feet, shook out the sand as best he could from his clothes and hair and began to slice at the long robe he wore over the baggy trousers. He wrapped one broad length round his head and another two thinner strips round his feet to serve as makeshift shoes since his soles were already becoming sore.

Once he was ready he set a slow but steady pace, trying to stay in the shade of the dunes as best he could.

Lorac was seated on his throne-like chair directly behind the altar and evinced no surprise at the abrupt appearance of the three companions – almost as if, thought Tegan uneasily, he was expecting them. "Welcome to our Holy of Holies, Doctor. Ladies."

"Holy of Holies? Borrowing a bit from Judaism and Christianity there, Most Holy, but then your Sect is plagiarised from many sources."

"Have a care, Honoured Guest. Your words are blasphemy."

Instead of reacting to the implicit threat, the Doctor deliberately wrong-footed him by giving a bright, beaming smile. Is blasphemy the excuse you use to justify your human sacrifices? And what of Adric? I assume he committed blasphemy against your fabricated Sect when he saw that poor soul consumed alive by the real Shades."

"You accuse the High Priest of Tsahara. I pray for your sake that you have proof."

For a moment the two men locked gazes, engaged in some sort of silent battle, then as if in dismissal of his rival, the Doctor turned away, pretending to inspect the altar closely. "Most altars for human sacrifice are made of stone, you know. Easier to scrub clean." He slipped his glasses on and with the air of a professor began to explain the various rites and rituals to Tegan and Nyssa who shifted nervously, still distressed by the plight of their companion. Lorac listened in cold silence, his poise unaffected.

The Doctor lifted up a crystal-bladed knife from a frosted glass plate and tested the edge against his thumb. Tegan winced at the spot of blood, her thoughts flying to what Adric must have endured. "You spoke of proof, Most Holy," the Doctor continued, "I could have this knife DNA tested. My ah transport has the necessary equipment – or, with the Tetrarch's leave, I could send the evidence to Homeworld."

"Right," said Tegan, joining in. "Adric's blood would be especially easy to trace – he's an Alzarian."

"Precisely." The Doctor turned to the High Priest with a sardonic smile. "He doesn't even come from this universe so his DNA signature will be unique. I imagine his blood could be all over this temple – on the knife, the altar, your robes. On that crystal ornament behind you."

Lorac's composure remained collected. He bowed his head coldly in recognition of the Doctor's deduction but showed no sign of remorse or distress. "My felicitations, Doctor. However, your information will do you little good." He paused and his voice became mocking, faintly disappointed. "Surely you did not think you could contend with the will of the High Priest of Tsahara? My word is law. You have played directly into my hands."

Four or five robed figures could be seen drifting towards them, more lurking by the exits. Tegan and Nyssa drew closer to the Doctor, aware that their escape routes were being cut off. The Doctor, however, seemed oblivious.

"Just tell me the location of the sacrifice site."

"Why?"

He spread out his hands in a gesture of sudden humility. "Let's call it professional etiquette. You've got what you wanted – three more offerings for your fake religion. Where's Adric?"

"It is no matter, you will soon be joining him. The co-ordinates are 456 / 765."

The Doctor heaved a sigh of relief but Lorac was nodding to the approaching figures. "Rejoice, my brethren, the off-worlders will soon slake the thirst of the Shades. Secure them!"

He stood up and flexed his arm. The dagger he kept strapped there slid into his waiting hand and he sliced it through the air mere inches from the Doctor's face. The women could see the other men were similarly armed. The three of them backed up against the altar, Lorac in front of them, his minions approaching behind them from the front of the temple. The Doctor's gaze swept the altar for possible weapons. The long-bladed knife was there but one knife against six armed individuals wasn't much use. Other than that, the altar held two candelabras burning brightly and the altar cloth. He waited for their assailants to come closer then he upset the altar and yanked up the cloth. The other priests were already picking themselves up but Lorac was bearing down on them. The dagger whistled through the air slicing Nyssa's arm. The next few seconds were a blur of confusion as the Doctor shoved the women away and whipped the cloth round his head once before sending it snake-like round Lorac's wrist where it tangled and held. He pulled the priest forward and disarmed him.

"After him, you fools!" Lorac screamed at his disorganised priests. Tegan was already running to the back exit, her arm round Nyssa who was pale and panting in obvious pain. The Doctor shepherded them out, giving his trademark grin as he said, "Come along, Tegan, don't dilly dally on the doorstep. Adric needs us!"


End file.
